Touch and Go
by bourbon
Summary: Sometimes it takes a tragedy to make you realize how you feel about someone. WJ pairing. COMPLETE.
1. Gas 'n' Guzzle, 12:26 AM

They drove home in silence.

The streetlights whizzed overhead, lighting up the car for an instant. Each time, Jordan could see his darkened eyes and the hard set of his jaw.

"So...are you ever going to talk to me again?"

He didn't answer but stared straight ahead out onto the road. There was a long silence. She reached down and turned on the radio, something to break the tension. His right hand darted from the steering wheel and clicked it off with a sharp snap.

She sank down in her seat and muttered just loud enough so he could hear, "Now that's what I call the silent treatment."

Suddenly, the words erupted out of him. "You led me on back there, Jordan. Plain and simple. I think I have a right to be angry."

"Come on, Woody! It was a _salsa club!_ You know!" she said playfully. "The mambo, the lambada...the forbidden dance." She tried to tease him out of his bad humor by poking him in the ribs.

He flinched. "_Don't_."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Okay? I guess I got a little carried away."

"Carried away? Yeah, I'll say. You show up wearing an outfit a little bigger than a postage stamp. Then you spend the next hour with your arms and legs wrapped all over me, grinding against me. You had to know what that was doing to me, Jordan." His voice dropped to an embarrassed murmur, "You had to have felt it."

She looked away. She had felt it, and she had secretly taken pleasure in the effect she was having on him.

"And then _you _kissed _me_ first, Jordan." He pointed at her accusingly.

"That wasn't a kiss, Woody. I just...nibbled at your ear. A little bit. The song was just getting to me, I guess. I didn't know you were going to take it that way."

He shot an angry glance at her then. The truth was, she knew he might take it that way, and he had. After the song ended and the band took a break, he had led her out onto the patio. Before she could speak, he had pulled her to him with a hand on the small of her bare back and kissed her.

She looked up at him with stunned eyes when the kiss finally broke. "Woody..." she had managed with a casual laugh. "We're just _friends."_

He had turned without a word then and stalked off angrily to the car, leaving her to stagger along after him as fast as she could on a pair of stilettos.

He still hadn't spoken to her on the long ride back, until now, and the words continued to spill out of him.

"You've done nothing but yank me around. And don't play innocent, because you knew exactly what you were doing this whole time, didn't you?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what you want me to say, Woody."

"Enough is enough. I'm through, Jordan," he said with cool finality. "Through being teased and strung along. I'm _through_."

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself. She turned her face to the window. She knew he was right. It was all a part of the pattern. She had kept him at arm's length for years. Not too close, but close enough so she could reel him back in if his interest began to flag.

He had spoken admiringly the week before of Santana, the new homicide detective. "She reminds me a lot of you, Jordan," he had said, and the words chilled her. The next day, she had suggested they go to a new salsa club that had opened just outside the city.

She glanced over at him again. His face was stony and resolute. He was really and truly angry with her this time. She turned to the window again so that he couldn't see the small quiver of her lip.

A convenience store loomed ahead on the corner. "Pull over," she said suddenly.

"What? What for?"

"I'm jonesin' for a Slushie," she spat sarcastically. "Just pull over."

He sighed and pulled into the empty Gas 'n' Guzzle parking lot with a hard jerk of the steering wheel. She jumped out and dashed inside the store before Woody could throw the car into park.

The skinny, pimply teenage cashier nodded his head in acknowledgment of her presence. She nodded in return and headed to the ladies' room at the back corner of the store.

Her eyes were already red and puffy. No, he wouldn't see her like this, and she splashed cold water on her face.

Where had she gone so wrong? She had always been able to read things perfectly, to offer him a tantalizing promise of something more whenever she needed to keep him interested.

She felt herself begin to cry again, this time in shame. Had it all been nothing more than a calculated game to her? He was her friend, perhaps her closest friend, and she had chosen to let him live in false hope for her own amusement.

She stood at the sink for a long while, trying to think her way out of this. She'd go out and buy him a cheap gas station rose as a peace offering and try and cajole him into forgiveness.

No, it would take more than that. He deserved more than that. He was hurt and angry, deservedly so. She would walk back out to the car and offer a simple and sincere apology and try to at least salvage some semblance of a friendship. If it weren't already too late.

She took a deep breath and walked back out into the store. The clerk was there, leaning against the counter, sipping lazily at a blue raspberry Slushie. She offered him a weak smile as she headed past the counter.

It was then that the door opened. She turned, half expecting it to be Woody, but it was not.

It was a stranger. He was wearing a camouflage jacket, and she was aware that he was holding something in each hand. Later, she would not be able to describe his face. She could only focus with dawning horror on his right hand, which the man now lifted to point a gun in the skinny clerk's face.

"Empty the register! Do it now!" The man tossed a bag onto the counter. The clerk stared back at him in slack-jawed horror. The man waved the gun. "DO IT! NOW!"

"Okay, okay, okay, okay..." the clerk began to repeat over and over. He pressed futilely at the cash register's buttons.

Jordan stood at the other end of the counter taking long, deep breaths. _Stay calm, Jordan. Stay calm..._

She wasn't sure he had noticed her there. Suddenly, the man swung his arm to the right and pointed the gun at her. "Don't you move!" he barked shrilly.

She gasped and held her hands up at shoulder's height. Her heart pounded, and she nodded rapidly in submission. He watched her for a moment before turning the gun back on the clerk.

She watched as the man bounced nervously from foot to foot. His hand was shaking, too. This wasn't a good sign. He was not a calm, seasoned criminal, he was probably new at this. He was likely to panic and make a stupid mistake, she knew from talking to Woody.

_Woody._

She looked out the window at him sitting in the car across the parking lot. She could make him out there, with his arms folded across his chest. He glowered unseeingly into the darkness.

_Come on, Woody. Come on. Look up._

The clerk continued to randomly press the cash register buttons with a rising panic.

"Come on! Open it! What are you doing?" The man waved his gun menacingly.

"It's not opening! I accidentally locked it or something! I can't open it!" the teenage clerk shrieked.

There was a torrent of words, then. The clerk continued to screech unintelligibly while the gunman threatened him.

This would not end well, she suddenly knew. She looked out again at Woody and willed him to notice with some detective's sixth sense that there was something wrong. Did he even have his gun?

"I'll shoot you! I'll shoot you!" the man began to scream while the clerk wailed in terror. She closed her eyes. No, this would not end well.

The bell over the door let out a soft tinkle, and her eyes snapped open.

"Jordan, could you move it along..."

It was Woody. He was standing impatiently inside the doorway.

Then, there was an instant: a brief, infinitesimal flicker, where time seemed to slow to a halt. Woody's eyes widened as he took in the scene, and his hand instinctively flew up to his where his gun would be. The gunman swiveled on his heel and turned toward the door.

"Woody, no!" It was all she could make out before the gunman fired once.

Woody didn't move at first. There was only a small flinch and his hand fell limply to his side. He took a step backward into a stack of six-packs behind him.

The gunman was gone, then. He brushed past Woody in the doorway and ran into the night.

Woody stood there still, his face set in kind of mild, detached shock. Jordan ran to him.

"Woody! Where are you hit? Woody?"

"I'm...fine. Are you okay, Jordan?" he managed to mutter before his legs gave way, and he crumpled to the floor. She knelt beside him and opened up his jacket then. A large, crimson stain was quickly spreading across the front of his white shirt. "Oh, Jesus..." he exhaled.

The sweat beads had already begun to pop to his forehead, and Jordan knew with a sickening foreboding that his blood pressure was dropping rapidly.

She took his head in her hands and looked up to where the clerk gazed on in wide-eyed horror.

"Call 911 _now," _she said, her calm voice barely concealing her fear. "And tell them there's an officer down."


	2. Waiting for Help

"You're okay, Woody. You're gonna be fine." She repeated it again and again in a soothing litany, trying to convince both of them. "You're gonna be fine, do you hear me?"

His face was still set in stunned surprise, and he moaned in pain through clenched teeth. She reached out for his bloodied hand and took it in hers. "Jordan...Jordan...?" he huffed breathlessly.

"No, don't talk. It's okay. Just hang in there. Hang in there. Do you hear me, Woody? Hang in there." Her voice was rising to an almost hysterical crescendo. She stopped and took a deep breath. She couldn't let him see her fear. She spoke again in calm, measured tones. "You're gonna be fine. Just save your strength, okay? Try not to move, okay?"

He nodded at her with panicked eyes.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly and even managed a small, comforting smile. She looked down at his sodden shirt and blinked back tears. He was losing blood rapidly.

Suddenly, he arched his back, and his hand flew to his wounded abdomen. "Jesssusss..." he hissed.

She reached out and pressed a hand against his damp, ashen forehead. His breathing had grown rapid and shallow. It had been a decade since she had worked a trauma, but she knew the bleak reality of what was happening to him.

The bullet had likely perforated his bowel, sending the acidic contents to spill with blinding pain into his abdominal cavity. The greater problem was that the bullet had probably then hit his liver or another organ, causing the massive blood loss.

His pressure was plummeting. If he didn't get help soon...

"You're gonna be fine, Woody. Just hang in there." Her voice shook with fear. "Where the hell is the ambulance?" She called out to no one.

The clerk had somehow managed to make the 911 call, but he now stood behind the counter staring on in mute terror.

Woody's grip on her hand began to loosen.

"Woody! Stay with me, Woody!" He began to shake uncontrollably. He was going into shock.

She summoned her long-dormant trauma skills and looked up at the terrified clerk. "Get me a blanket, a coat, anything! Move!" She yelled. He stood immobile for a moment before finding his feet and running across the store to retrieve a NASCAR beach towel from a display.

Her hands trembled as she unfolded the towel, and he cried out as she tucked it around him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's just a towel, okay? We've got to keep you warm, can you hear me? Woody? Woody!"

His eyes were dull and dilated. He was losing consciousness.

"Woody? Don't do this, Woody! Stay with me! Do you hear me? Stay with me!"

She froze for a moment. _What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?_

_CPR_.

She leaned over and prepared to breathe for him.

_You can do this, Jordan. You can do this._

Then, a noise. She strained to hear. _Sirens._

_Thank God..._

Her body heaved with one relieved sob. She quickly blotted her face with her blood-soaked forearm as the EMTs and police officers streamed into the store.

There was a swirl of uniforms, people, voices. More sirens.

She rose and stood numbly to the side as paramedics called out vital signs, administered oxygen.

She was aware that the clerk was talking to one of the officers and blubbering hysterically for his mother. There was another officer in front of her then, speaking words she couldn't hear.

"...Ma'am?"

She turned her head and looked at him with empty eyes. "Wuh...?"

"Is this your husband?" he asked with professional detachment.

She watched as they lifted him onto the gurney. "No, I..." Her voice trailed off. She shook herself out of her dazed stupor and took Woody's hand briefly as they wheeled him by. "Woody, I'm right behind you. Do you hear me? I'll be right there."

She turned to the officer. "Where are they taking him? Tell me where they're taking him."

"County Memorial. A mile or so down the road."

She watched the ambulance speed off with a scream of sirens. "He'll be all right, won't he? He'll be all right."

She looked up at the officer. His eyes darted quickly away.

She began to search the floor frantically for her purse. "I've got to go...I've got to go..." she mumbled. She finally saw the strap sticking out from under the saturated beach towel. She stared at it grimly for a moment.

"Come on, ma'am. I'll drive you."

She nodded slowly and let the officer take her arm as he led her toward the police car. She turned her head as they passed through the door so she would not see in her reflection that the bottom of her dress was soaked through with Woody's blood.


	3. Touch and Go

_Disclaimer: I don't have a medical background! All apologies to those of you who work in the medical field who are reading this story and shaking your heads, saying, "THAT'S not how it happens!" _

_I hope you enjoy, anyway:-)_

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She hated hospitals. It was something she had never quite gotten used to: the antiseptic smell, the way sounds echoed ominously off the cold, sterile tiles. But there was something else, too.

She always felt comfortable working in the morgue. There was a sort of calm that permeated the air, as if the souls that lingered there had peacefully accepted their fate. Here, the halls seemed filled with the overwhelming presence of anguish and fear.

She shuddered and glanced down to the doors at the end of the hallway. He was in surgery in a room just behind those doors. She wasn't supposed to be here. When she arrived at the emergency room, she was told that Woody had already been taken up to the OR.

"Can I go up there?" she made the mistake of asking.

"Are you family?" the desk clerk had asked mechanically in return.

Jordan hesitated for a moment. "No."

"Well, then I'm afraid you can't go up there." The clerk turned her attention back to her paperwork, and Jordan waited for the first opportunity to slip past her and make her way up to the OR waiting area on the fourth floor.

Now, she sat in the hard, molded plastic orange chairs outside the operating rooms, staring down at the linoleum floor. A pile of months-old magazines sat on the end table next to her. Did they really expect people to read up here?

She thumbed mindlessly through some women's magazine with articles on "cute crafts for Christmas" and "how to drop two dress sizes in three months." She let the magazine drop to the floor and buried her face in her hands.

She had been running on automatic back at the convenience store. There wasn't time to think about anything other then getting Woody to the hospital, _fast._

Now that she was alone with nothing more than a stack of unread _Good Housekeepings_, her mind ran over the events of the last few hours in an endless loop.

It was her fault, she knew. If she hadn't made him pull over...if she hadn't been crying...if she hadn't led him on at the club. _Her fault._

_He's not going to make it. _The thought sprang unwelcome to the front of her mind. She shook her head. _He's going to be fine. He has to be._

She rose from her seat and began to pace the hall restlessly. She would need to make phone calls.

_Cal. _She needed to call Cal. Woody had mentioned that he had gone on a rock-climbing trip out West with some buddies, and she had no idea how to reach him. He was the next of kin with both their parents being dead.

_Oh, God. Woody's father_. The realization flooded back into her with horror. The elder Hoyt, the town sheriff, had been gunned down in a gas station robbery fifteen years earlier. He had died a lingering, agonizing death, and Woody must have lain on the floor there wondering in terror if the same fate awaited him.

The image of him lying helpless on the floor in a widening pool of his own blood was forever seared in her mind. He had tried to bear it with his typical Midwestern stoicism, but she knew when he had looked up at her with pleading eyes that he had been racked with pain and fear. He was a cop; he knew as well as she did what his chances were.

He was a young, vital man with his life ahead of him, and she had held his hand and watched the life being drained from him. How often had he escaped death in the line of duty just to be cut down in some filthy Gas 'n' Guzzle?

She brushed away a short shower of anxious tears and collapsed back onto her chair. No, she wouldn't think about it. He was going to be fine. _Fine_.

The doors opened then, and a male figure in scrubs moved toward her. She looked up at him expectantly. His face was bleak.

"I'm Dr. Harris. Are you Mrs. Hoyt?"

"No, I'm a friend. How is he?" She jumped from her chair.

His face fell, and he hesitated. "I'm sorry. I can only release that information to family members."

"Please, I was there. I know what happened to him. Can't you at least tell me how he is?"

The doctor shook his head with regret. "I'm sorry...it's these new privacy laws. I can't give you any information unless you are a family member. I'm sorry. Really."

He nodded and turned to go. Jordan ran after him in her bare feet. "Wait!" He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "If you can't tell me as a family member, tell me as a doctor." He looked at her curiously. She let the words spill out of her in a rush. "I'm a doctor. An M.E. in Boston. If you don't believe me, you can call them. There won't be any privacy issues, since I'm bound by confidentiality, too. But _Please_. Tell me _something. Please_."

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment and looked up and down the hallway. Finally, he spoke in a low whisper. "All right. As a professional courtesy. He's in ICU. He made it through the surgery." Her shoulders dropped in relief. "But it was touch and go for awhile. We found the bullet. Looks like a .22. It hit the bowel and then the liver. The damage was pretty extensive, but we managed to stop the bleeding."

Her mouth was dry with fear. "Is he going to be okay?"

He paused briefly. "We'll know more in the morning." He gave her arm a pat and hurried down the hallway.

In her haze, she managed to stumble down the hallway toward ICU. There was a nurse there at the duty station going through some charts.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for Woody Hoyt's room," she croaked. The nurse looked up, and her face registered the shock of seeing Jordan standing there. Jordan could only imagine what she must have looked like.

"Are you his wife?"

She paused for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I am."

The nurse nodded sympathetically. "Room 12A, Mrs. Hoyt. Three doors down."

She turned and moved uneasily down the hall, afraid of what she might find inside. Her heart fell when she saw him.

He was unconscious, of course, she had expected that, but she hadn't expected him to seem so small and vulnerable. And she hadn't expected to feel the way she did, seeing him there.

The room was unnaturally still and quiet except for the soft, reassuring beep of the heart monitor. The lights were dimmed, and she moved quietly into the room as if she were afraid to wake him.

The nurse from the duty station appeared in the doorway then. "Excuse me, Mrs. Hoyt?"

Jordan turned. "Please. It's Jordan."

"_Jordan._ I thought you could use these." She held out a pair of teal colored scrubs.

Jordan blinked. "Oh. Thanks. I guess I should..." The nurse smiled in understanding and turned to go.

Jordan went into the bathroom and took a breath before looking at herself in the mirror. It was worse than she had imagined. Her hair had come loose from its pretty silver clasp and was hanging in an unkempt mass against her tear-streaked face. Her clothes were soaked through, too, and she tore at them, pulling them over her head as if they burned her flesh.

She stepped in the shower and stood under the stream for a long time, watching with grim fascination as the water emptied into the drain, first a deep red, then fading to pink and finally running clear.

The fresh scrubs felt cool and clean against her skin, and she crept back out into the room and eased herself into an armchair beside Woody's bed.

"I'm here, Woody." She whispered and brushed his arm with her fingers. "I'm right here."

_We'll know more in the morning._ She thought of the doctor's words and knew what had gone unsaid:

_If he makes it through the night._

"He'll make it," she whispered aloud.

She had been going on adrenaline since the shooting, too numb to really feel anything. A hard crash was inevitable. She bent her head against the edge of his bed and began to sob quietly.

She cried for him, for his unimaginable pain, for the life he might never know. And she cried for herself with guilt and regret, and some other unfamiliar emotion she couldn't quite yet recognize. She only knew that the thought of losing him now seemed more than she could bear.

"_Please...please..."_ she whispered prayer-like into the darkness.

Finally, drained of all emotion, she curled up in the armchair and watched him sleep, waiting for the long stretch until morning.


	4. Rude Awakenings

There was no point in even attempting sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, the images from the night before replayed in her mind. The shot, Woody's collapse, the pool of blood widening beneath him all unraveled in slow motion.

Dawn crept in after a few hours. A new shift of nurses streamed in and out, changing his IV bags, checking his wound. Each time they called her "Mrs. Hoyt" she squirmed uncomfortably.

"It's Jordan," she would always say, and they would nod and whisk out of the room, giving her a smile that was a blend of detached pity and sympathy. It was common in the medical field; she knew it all too well.

She had managed to lose her bloody dancing shoes somewhere along the way, and one of the nurses loaned her a pair of sneakers. They were two sizes too big and felt like clown shoes, but she was grateful for them as she headed wearily down to the cafeteria.

There were phone calls to make. She sat in front of her uneaten tray of pancakes with her cell phone, staring blankly at the the cell number for Cal that she had found in Woody's wallet. How could she possibly find the words to tell him what had happened to his brother?

She dialed, but there was no answer. She ended up leaving a message in urgent tones that Woody was in the hospital, and he needed to call her right away. It hardly seemed the kind of thing he should hear in voicemail, but she had no other choice. She only hoped Cal had his cell phone with him wherever he was.

She called the precinct to let them know what had happened, but they had already heard, of course. She needed to talk to someone, anyone, and she found herself dialing Lily's number. Lily immediately began to cry, and Jordan felt tears begin to pool in her own eyes.

"_Stop,_ Lily. _Stop. _He's going to be fine, _okay?" _She sat, shaken, for a full ten minutes after she hung up, staring through tears into the blurred mess of her breakfast. There would be no more phone calls. She trusted Lily would get the word out for her.

She glanced down at her watch. It had been 45 minutes. Too long. What if Woody awoke? What if _something _happened while she was gone? She threw away her untouched plate and hurried back upstairs.

She wondered who else she would have to lie to today. It was a bitter irony: she had convinced the hospital staff that they were married, when the truth was that there was very little of their relationship left after they way she had hurt him.

Woody was still unconscious when she re-entered his room. She was unused to seeing him like this, and it took her breath for a moment. She took her place back in the armchair and tried, without much success, to distract herself with a discarded newspaper she'd picked up in the cafeteria.

Then, there was a small movement. She looked up just as Woody's eyelids fluttered open. She leaned forward in her chair hopefully.

"Woody? Can you hear me? It's Jordan." There was a small noise. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the light.

"Jordan..." he muttered groggily. His eyes scanned the room in confusion.

"I'm here." She took his hand.

He focused on her then, and his eyes narrowed. "You're here," he said flatly.

She smiled at him and gave his hand a squeeze. "Are you in much pain?"

"I was shot in the gut, Jordan." He closed his eyes shut tight, and his body seemed to stiffen.

"It's okay, I'll get the nurse. Hang in there."

She dashed into the hall and ran down to the desk. There was a sudden whirl of activity, nurses whisked into his room, the doctor appeared. She was dismissed when they opened his bandage.

She wanted to tell them that there was nothing that could happen to the human body that she hadn't already seen, but she obediently went out into the hallway to wait.

_He's awake_. She smiled to herself. _He's awake._ She let out a small ripple of a laugh. _He's awake._

She knew, of course, that he wasn't out of the woods yet, but it didn't matter. He was awake, and it seemed to her a small miracle.

Then the initial relief began to fade. It was the way he had looked at her, the way his jaw had tightened when he realized she was there.

_You're here..._

There seemed something cold and flat in his voice, as if her presence in his room was not an altogether welcome surprise. It was just the pain, she convinced herself. Everything would be fine, just fine, and they would start again as if the night before had never happened.

The doctor came out then, and spoke to her briefly. She nodded as if she had heard and then walked numbly back into Woody's room. He did not turn to her, but lay staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"Hey," she whispered. "How are you feeling?"

There was a pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "How do you think?"

"The doctor says you're doing much better," she said as chirpily as she could manage. He did not respond. "Hey, listen..." she leaned into him conspiratorially. "They wouldn't let me up here unless I was family. Don't blow my cover, but I told them I was your wife." She managed a small, forced laugh.

One corner of his lip curled up. "Imagine. You, my wife." He turned his head away from her and shut his eyes. Whatever fantasies she had harbored about a neat and tidy reunion had evaporated.

"Well. I guess I'll let you get some rest. I'll check on you later." she said with artificial cheerfulness and tried to hurry out the door.

"I remember everything, Jordan," he said in a small, weakened voice. She stopped in the doorway and turned. "I remember walking in the store and seeing you with your hands in the air. I remember seeing the gun pointed at me and hearing the shot. I remember lying there on the floor. I thought I was going to die, but I remember you there holding my hand and telling me to hang in there." He looked at her for a long moment, and it seemed that the warmth had returned to his eyes. She smiled at him and blinked back tears. Then his face clouded over. He turned his head from her again and spoke in empty, indifferent tones. "I remember the club, too."

Her heart sank and she ran from the room, heading blindly down the hallway. She was aware of a figure coming toward her with open arms. _Lily._ She had never felt particularly close to her, but she did not resist when Lily pulled Jordan to her and comforted her as she cried a fresh shower of ragged sobs.

"How is he, Jordan?" Lily finally asked with concern.

"Well, he's awake." She paused to take the kleenex that Lily passed to her. "I've really made a mess of things."

Lily looked at her quizzically. "I don't understand...how did you make a mess of things?"

"Last night, before the shooting, he accused me of leading him on. I've never seen him so angry. And it's _my_ fault we were at that convenience store." Her voice broke again.

"Jordan, ssssh. Don't kick yourself. I don't think it works like that. You didn't make it happen."

Jordan shook her head slowly. "He _hates _me, Lily." Jordan sank down in a chair, elbows on knees. "God, I sound so selfish."

Lily sat down next to her and placed a hand on Jordan's back. She spoke as gently as she could manage. "Well..._yeah._ You do."

Jordan looked up at her and snorted humorlessly. Lily continued. "Jordan, he's just now beginning to process the fact that he almost died. Your relationship is the furthest thing from his mind right now. Give him some time. He cares about you. You know that."

_No. Not anymore_, she wanted to say, but they both sat in silence. Lily handed her the large shopping bag she had brought in. "Here. I thought you could use this."

Jordan peeked inside. Toothbrush, toothpaste, a change of clothes. Jordan smiled weakly. "Thanks, Lily."

"You're very welcome."

There was a pause while Jordan rummaged through the bag, but she found her mind wandering back to the night before and the car ride from the club.

"He's right," she began in a small voice. "I led him on for years. I let him think he had a chance." She shook her head and brushed at stinging tears with her thumb. "Why wasn't I honest with him? Why couldn't I tell him what I really felt?"

Lily reached out and touched her hand. "And how _do _ you really feel, Jordan?"

Jordan lifted her head and looked at Lily. She opened her mouth to say that she thought of Woody as a friend. She was flattered by his attention and enjoyed his company, but nothing more. She opened her mouth to speak but found the words would not come.

And then it suddenly occurred to her in a blinding, overwhelming flash of clarity that none of it was true.

"Oh, God..." she started in sudden, stunned realization, but then she was aware of movement at the end of the hall, figures running into one of the rooms. _Woody's_ room.

She rose and stumbled back toward the nurse's station. A nurse dashed from Woody's room to the desk and picked up the phone there. "Code Blue, ICU Room 12A."

"What's happening? What's going on?" The nurse did not answer but rushed back into the room. An attending appeared and brushed past Jordan. She stood frozen in the doorway of his room looking at Woody's still form as the monitors beeped wildly.

She was aware then that her cell phone was vibrating. She ignored its insistent buzz until she remembered._ Cal._

She pulled the phone from her pocket and answered it with an unsteady hand.

"Jordan? It's Cal. How is he?"

"You need to get here." Her voice was frantic. "You need to get here, Cal."

"I'm losing battery here, Jordan. Ahhh, God." There was a staticky silence. "I'm in the middle of nowhere, but I'll get there as soon as I can. Just...tell him to hang on."

"I will." She turned back to the room. "But, Cal? _Hurry._"


	5. Hearts and Minds

_Here's a quick update. It was originally supposed to be part of Chapter 4, but it just made the chapter too long._

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"Here." Lily slid a plate of the hospital cafeteria's meat loaf special in front of Jordan. "Eat."

Jordan looked down at the tray distastefully. "Well, with this culinary masterpiece in front of me, how can I resist?" She picked at it with her fork for a moment and then pushed it aside.

"Jordan, you heard what the doctor said. They caught the bleeding in time, and he came through the second surgery fine."

"Yes, but what if it happens again?"

Lily said nothing; there was nothing _to_ say. They both stared down at the empty tabletop.

"Jordan, why don't you take the nurses' advice and let me drive you home? Woody probably won't wake up until morning."

Jordan rubbed at her bleary eyes. "I guess I could use the sleep."

She let Lily lead her to the car. Lily instinctively knew that conversation was not welcome, and they drove in silence. Finally, Jordan spoke as they pulled up in front of her building.

"It's funny, the human body, you know? How disconnected the whole thing really is. I mean, your heart tells you one thing, and your mind tells you the opposite. No wonder we're all so messed up."

Lily tried to respond, but Jordan thanked her and jumped out of the car before she could speak.

Her apartment somehow seemed colder and emptier than it had when she had left the night before. She walked slowly to her bed. There were several dresses stretched out there where she had stood in front of the mirror trying to decide what to wear to the club.

Yes, Woody was right. She had known exactly what she was doing. With one sweep of her arm, she pushed them into a pile on the floor and curled up on her empty bed.

She had thought she would not sleep, but she found herself drifting quickly. Her sleep was disturbed once by a dream where she entered an empty room, except for a coffin, and she crept up to it with foreboding. It was Woody, stretched out in a suit. There in the center of his belly was a hole that continued to seep a sickening crimson.

She woke for a moment but then drifted back into a long sleep all the way through until morning.

XXXXXX

She woke feeling surprisingly refreshed. She even slept later than she had meant to, and after a quick shower, she hurried back to the hospital, even if Woody didn't want her there.

She took a deep breath before entering the room. He was awake and looking straight ahead into nothingness. He turned his head to her when he saw her.

"Hey..." he croaked. "You're back."

She tried to smile optimistically, but he seemed so pale and weak, as if he had already dropped pounds from his lean frame. "You're looking stronger today."

"It's the morphine." He nodded up at the IV bag next too the bed and ran his thumb over the button he gripped in his right hand.

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

She searched for comforting words but could find none. She sat down in her chair. "You really scared me, you know." She had meant it to be light and funny, but her voice broke, and she could feel tears spring to her eyes.

"Jordan..." He cut her off. "Thank you. For staying with me. Really. But I don't want to go over this again right now, all right? What's done is done." He shut his eyes then, and she heard the faint click of the morphine button.

By "this" she knew he had meant the fractured state of their relationship. What had she said to Lily the day before? Jordan's heart had hoped that she would tell him, full of poetry, how she had always felt, and he would be full of forgiveness. Her mind knew better.

She heard a noise in the hall, a male voice raised to a frantic pitch, and then hurried footsteps. She looked over to see Cal rush into the room. He dropped his duffle bag and leaned over Woody's bed.

"Cal..."

"I came right from the airport," he said breathlessly. "How you doing, bro?""

"Hurts like a son of a bitch."

Cal looked up and nodded at Jordan. She tried to smile back. "I got here as soon as I could. Jordan's been keeping me updated."

"Cal's here now. So, you can go, Jordan," Woody added weakly.

Cal looked up in surprise and then over at Jordan. There was an awkward moment, and Jordan rose to her feet. "Right. Well. I don't want to get in the way of the family reunion."

She tried to make a quick exit, but it was blocked by the attending and one of the floor nurses.

"We're just going to check the wound. Excuse us for a moment, Mrs. Hoyt."

Jordan's eyes grew wide. She hadn't thought to warn Cal. But it was too late.

"_Mrs. Hoyt?_ Is there something you guys aren't telling me?"

The doctor and nurse looked at Woody and Jordan in confusion.

"Sorry, but it looks like your cover is blown, Jordan," Woody said evenly.

The doctor blinked. "So...you aren't really married?"

"No. No we're not." Jordan turned and stumbled out of the room down the end of the hallway to the waiting area there. She had never seen Woody this way. She felt caught in some storm and buffeted in all directions. He seemed one minute to be the same warm, welcoming Woody, and the next to be bitter and angry.

Cal found her there a half an hour later. "Well, if it isn't my new sister-in-law." Jordan glared up at him. "Sorry, I blew it back there. You should have warned me."

She gave him a wave of the hand. "It's okay."

"Look..." He exhaled noisily and slid into the seat next to her. He spoke carefully. "I don't know what's going on with you and my brother..."

"There's _nothing_, Cal..." she interrupted.

He raised his hands. "I don't even want to know. It's none of my business."

"Maybe there was something once. Or there could have been. But not anymore. I'd say right now he pretty much hates me. Can't say I blame him."

Cal shook his head slowly. "No. I know my brother, Jordan. He doesn't hate you. In fact, I'd say it was the opposite."

Jordan looked away and felt the shamed, red flush of her cheeks.

Cal continued. His voice had dropped to a pained whisper. "He's thinking about our father, you know. That's why he became a cop. It was some kind of unfinished business. Like he had to prove something to the old man." Jordan nodded slowly in understanding. "Woody's never really gotten over his death. Dad died in his arms. Woody wouldn't even let me in the room. He was trying to protect me. He always tries to protect the people he loves."

Cal rose and paced the small waiting room before speaking again. "The doctor said Woody is out of the woods. I've got to fly home for a few days, but I'll be back at the end of the week. Woody should be ready to go home by then, and I can take over until he's back on his feet." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I'm asking if you can keep an eye on him. Help him back home if I'm not here by then."

Jordan looked up at him and frowned. "Cal, I don't think..."

"He'll fight you, Jordan. But don't let him."

She felt a lump rise in her throat. "Okay," she managed in a hoarse whisper.

He smiled down at her with gratitude. "He's asking for you."

She looked up at him in surprise, and Cal nodded.

She rose and hurried back into his room, pausing to dry her eyes with the heel of her hand.

He was sleeping peacefully. She smiled a small, bittersweet smile. Whatever he had wanted to say to her would remain unsaid until another time. She sat next to his bed for a long while, watching the even rise and fall of his chest, before rising quietly and returning home to her empty apartment.

XXXXX

_And you thought I'd kill Woody! _

_Which isn't to say that it will be smooth sailing here on out for our favorite couple! ;-)_


	6. Homecoming

Despite her promise to Cal, Jordan saw very little of Woody in the days that followed. He had been moved from ICU to a regular room, and it seemed as if each time she arrived in the morning, his room was filled with med students on rounds, well-wishers from the precinct or officers there to take their statements.

She had meant to try and talk to him, but there was always some interruption. Once, she arrived to find him asleep and his room was quiet and empty. She eased into the chair and watched him there for awhile until he stirred. He moaned, and his face twisted in pain.

He awoke slowly and saw her there. "Jordan...how long have you been here?"

"I just walked in. You were sleeping like a baby." She gave him a feigned smile, and he shut his eyes again.

She ached to see him hurting. He had always seemed so strong and eternally upbeat. She wanted to go to him, hold him, kiss him softly and whisper that she had loved him all along.

She thought back to when she had finally known the magnitude of her feelings for him. She knew it was not the day of her conversation with Lily. No, that was when the thought had finally been pushed forcibly to the front of her consciousness, but the true moment had been the day before when she held him in her arms at the convenience store and waited with him for the ambulance. She would have done that for any friend, for a complete stranger.

But as she held him there, there was a sudden, blinding terror that flickered briefly into her brain _Oh, God. What if I lose him? _and she had been overwhelmed with the anguish the can only come from helplessly watching the suffering of someone you love.

Cal called at the end of the week and said he would be able to return in a couple of days. Woody was about to be released from the hospital, and Jordan would have to see him home.

She steeled herself and strode brightly into his room on the afternoon of his release. He was sitting on the side of the bed as the nurse gingerly helped him slip on his jacket.

Shaven and dressed the way he was, he looked more _human_ than he had in some time, but the dark hollows under his eyes told another story.

"Ready to go?" she chirped. He nodded and carefully slid off the bed and into the waiting wheelchair with his new can stretched across his lap.

He said little on the way home, and she tried to fill the emptiness with cheery chatter and gossip from work.

She parked in front of his building and entered. He stood at the foot of the staircase looking grimly to the landing at the top. His apartment was two floors up, and each step was a monumental effort.

By the time they reached the second floor, he had grown pale, and his shirt was soaked through with sweat. He stood trying to balance his cane and searched for the right key on his chain. He gave up finally and passed the keys to Jordan.

She opened the door, and he hobbled inside and made his way haltingly to the bed. "Jordan, can you please get me a glass of water?" he asked in a weakened voice.

She went in the kitchen and watched while he removed his damp shirt. She felt an unpleasant flutter in her belly when she saw him there in front of his mirror. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers along the puckered, jagged scar across his middle before quickly slipping on another shirt.

She brought him a glass of water. "What's that for?" he finally said, pointing to the bag over Jordan's shoulder.

"This? Well, it looks like all your 'naughty night nurse' fantasies are about to come true," she said in an attempt at humor. "I'm about to give you all the TLC you can stand, roomie."

"I don't need a nursemaid," he said, downing a couple of Vicodin.

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun. I'll tuck you in at night, read you a bedtime story."

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"Here on the sofa. All nice and platonic."

"Jordan, you really don't have to do..."

"Look," she cut him off. "I promised Cal, so I guess we're stuck with each other for a couple of days, all right?" she snapped. She hadn't meant to lose patience with him, but she was at the point of exhaustion. He looked up at her with stunned eyes and then shrugged.

"Fine."

She stormed into the bathroom with her bag and sat there on the edge of the tub trying to regain her composure. Why had she agreed to this? It was obvious he didn't want her here, but she was determined to make the best of this and just muddle through until Cal arrived in a day or two.

She yanked on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top and got ready for bed, still shaking with frustration. She stood with her hand on the doorknob, ready to storm out the way she had stormed in, but then she softened. He needed her help. She had been selfish for so long, and she owed him this, no matter how he felt about her now.

When she re-entered into the room, Woody had fallen asleep. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa with a sigh and stretched out. Not exactly plush accommodations, but it would do.

She reached up to turn out the light. There was a small movement in the shadows. She turned to Woody's bed to see him gazing intently in her direction, and then he snapped his eyes shut quickly as if he had not been watching her at all.

She clicked off the lamp and lay awake for a long while before drifting into a sound sleep.

XXXXX

There was a noise. She awoke in confusion and blinked her eyes. Her hands reached out in the darkness.

_Woody's apartment. I'm in Woody's apartment._

She let her eyes adjust to the dim, and the noise came again, low and guttural. She sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. The moan came again, deeper and more urgent.

She turned the light on and hurried to Woody's bedside. He was tossing restlessly, his closed eyes darting back and forth.

_"No...don't...don't..."_ he muttered in his sleep and clutched at the sheets in his tightened fists.

She reached out to touch him, but suddenly his eyes snapped open and he let out a piercing cry.

"Woody, it's all right. It's okay. You're okay." She touched his arm. He looked over at her, but he seemed not to see.

He sat, his heart pounding, rigid in fear for a moment. "I was dreaming..." he said, catching his breath.

"I know. It's okay. You're safe."

"It was seeing it again," he said softly.

"I know." She knew the dream.

He rolled away from her and eased onto his side. "I'm sorry I woke you."

She thought to say something, but after a moment, she went back to the sofa and turned out the light again.

Sleep was difficult in coming. His apartment was eerily still, but she could make out the faint sounds of his uneasy breathing and, briefly, the sound of muffled crying.


	7. Go

_Thanks to all who have R&Red! _

_This is the next-to-last chapter. Enjoy!_

XXXXXXXXXXX

She awoke in the morning with a stretch of her cramped legs, and as she opened her eyes, she was aware of Woody hobbling in from the bathroom wearing a ratty white bathrobe.

"Woody?" she asked in surprise. "Did you just take a shower? You should have let me help you." She jumped from the sofa and crossed to his bed.

"I think I can manage a shower by myself, Jordan."

He stood there with a pair of jeans in one hand and his cane in the other, trying to figure how best to put his pants on.

"Here, let me help you." She pulled at the collar of his robe.

"Jordan! Come on! I'm kind of naked under here!"

"For Pete's Sake, Woody, I'm a doctor."

"You're a _dead people's_ doctor, Jordan."

"Oh, _puh-leez." _She closed her eyes with a sigh and tossed him a pair of boxer shorts. "_Here_."

She opened her eyes after a moment, and he stood in his shorts, robe dropped to the floor. He watched as her eyes fell to his scarred middle. She swallowed hard. She had seen all manner of scars and wounds at work without batting an eye, but this was different. This was Woody.

"Well..." he started. "So, much for my six-pack abs." She looked up, and he gave her a rueful smile. She smiled back warmly. It was a glimpse of the old Woody Hoyt, and she was grateful for it. But then his face clouded over again.

He bent down to pull on his jeans as he tried to balance on one foot. "Here, let me help you. Lean on me, Woody."

"I can do it, Jordan."

"It's okay, I've got you." She slipped her arm around him.

"Jordan, don't. This isn't working."

"No, it'll be fine, just..."

"Jordan!"

He lost his balance and toppled back onto the bed.

"Oh, God, Woody! I'm sorry! Are you all right?" He grimaced in pain and clutched a hand to his middle. She leaned down to help him up, but he brushed her hand away.

"I can do it." He attempted to push himself up on his elbows.

"Woody, come on. You've got no abdominal strength. Just take my hand."

He shook his head. "I can do it."

"Just take my hand, dammit!" She offered her hand again. He grudgingly took it, and leaned against her as he dressed.

Afterwards, he sat back down on the bed, spent from the effort of dressing himself, and she stood for a moment in the awkward silence.

Finally, she went back to sit on the sofa and retrieved the brush from her cosmetics bag. She pulled the elastic from her long, chestnut hair and brushed it with long strokes.

She became aware of his eyes on her, then, and they turned to each other for a moment. There was look that passed between them and the air crackled with the tension of longing and regret. She had always enjoyed his appreciative glances and had done her best to earn them. But now she felt shamed and exposed in her tiny tank top. She quickly grabbed a sweater from her overnight bag and pulled it on.

"So...how about a movie or something?" she said in a rush. "I can run down to the corner for a DVD."

"A DVD? Great. So, I guess I'm stuck here, aren't I?" He shook his head in bitter resignation.

"At least until you get stronger. Those stairs weren't easy."

He looked up at her then. "No, Jordan. They weren't."

"Well. Then I guess I'll just head out to Blockbuster. In the mood for anything in particular?" She slipped her jacket on over her yoga pants and headed for the door. "Listen, why don't I get some chips, too?"

"It's eight o'clock in the morning, Jordan. I don't want a DVD. I don't want chips."

"That's fine. I can pick up some newspapers. Or you can watch me kick your butt in Scrabble." He rose and crossed to the kitchen without responding. "Woody, where are you going?"

"I'm just getting a glass of water."

"Here, I'll do it. You sit down." She followed him in, and he held up a hand to stop her. His hands were trembling, she noticed then. He poured himself a glass of water and swallowed two Vicodin. His hand still shook as he placed the water glass on the island and closed his eyes.

"Breakfast! How about breakfast?" She broke the uneasy mood. "Whaddya say? I scramble a mean egg."

He grabbed a box of cereal off the countertop and poured himself a bowl. "No, thanks. I'm just going to have cereal." He shuffled to the refrigerator and pulled out the gallon of milk. After unscrewing the lid, he lifted the jug hesitantly up to his nose and quickly pulled it back.

"Sour?" she asked.

"Well, that's what happens when you get shot, and you're in the hospital for a week." He slowly poured the contents down the kitchen drain.

"I'll just go and get some fresh milk, then."

"Jordan, _stop_. All right? Just..._stop._" He turned and struggled to put the box in the cupboards.

"Let me. You can't reach that." She tried to pull the box from his grip.

"Jordan, I can do it." He didn't let go.

"Come on, Woody, you're going to hurt yourself."

"Give me the box, Jordan."

"Woody, come on..." They stood in an absurd struggle over a box of Lucky Charms until it slipped from her hand, sending the contents to scatter across the kitchen floor.

They stared silently at the floor for a moment before he moved past her to retrieve the broom from the closet.

"I'll do it, Woody."

"Jordan, please. Please please please. Stop. Please," he said in pained exasperation.

She put a hand on his arm. "Just let me help you, Woody."

He turned suddenly to her then. His face was red with anger. The words erupted out of him. "I don't _want _your help, Jordan. Do you hear me?"

Her mouth fell open in surprise. "Woody, please..."

_"Go!_ Just _go!_"

"I want to help."

"Why? Why? So you can make yourself feel better? So you can take pity on poor Woody?"

She bit her lip and fought back tears. "It's not like that, Woody."

"Then _what?_ What are you doing here?"

She took a step toward him and reached her hand up to his face. "I...want to help you, Woody. I..._care_ about you..." The words seemed stuck in her throat.

He took a step back from her and pushed her hands away. "You _care? _Just go, Jordan."

"Woody, don't do this."

"_Go_! I don't want you here. Don't you get it?"

They stood in a tense, silent standoff. She searched his face for some sign of warmth and hope, but she could find none. Finally, she nodded and retrieved her bag.

"Cal will be here on the 4:30 flight," she said as calmly as she could manage. She could not look him in the eye. "You should be all right until then."

He did not respond. She hurried past him to the door.

"Jordan..." he started, his voice softened. But she was already gone and the door shut behind her with a final click.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was good to return to work, and she found she could lose herself in files and reports. Woody was never too far from her mind, though. He was in good hands, at least, with his brother. She thought to call him, but she knew Lily was right. He was raw, physically and emotionally. Now wasn't the time. Perhaps it never would be.

A part of her remained raw, too, and she missed him with an aching intensity even as the week wore on. She was just about to leave work for the day when her office phone rang.

_Friday afternoon at 4:30. Never fails._ She slumped back into her chair with a weary sigh and answered the phone.

"Jordan, it's Cal," he said with hushed urgency.

She immediately sat upright and leaned forward at her desk. "Cal! Is something wrong? Is Woody all right?"

"Yeah, he's fine. He's in the shower; I don't have much time. Look, I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for Woody."

"That's what _friends_ are for," she said, hoping that Cal would miss the heaviness in her voice.

"Yeah...about that." He continued carefully. "I can kind of guess what went down between you and my brother. He's said a couple of things. Nothing specific, but...I can kind of put two and two together."

Her face flushed red with embarrassment. "Cal, it's not..."

"Hey. Like I said. None of my business. Just...be patient. Okay?"

"He's just so..._angry_ with me."

"It's not you, Jordan. He's angry because he was minding his own business and someone shot him in the gut. He's angry because he can't do the things he wants to do. But he can't admit it to himself, so he's taking it all out on you. I know all you guys must think he's some kind of happy-go-lucky Eagle Scout type. And let's face it. He is. But he's a lot more than that." There was a silence while she turned Cal's words over in her mind. "Look, I've got to go. Hang in there, Jordan, okay?"

The silent tears that were streaming down her cheeks made it impossible to respond. She set the phone gently down and hurried from her office before anyone could notice her there.


	8. Welcome Back

_All right because NCCJFAN was ABSOLUTELY RIGHT (thank you!) about the ending being too abrupt, I have decided to stretch it out another chapter. So...THIS is the next-to-last chapter. The last chapter is still to come! _

_XXXXX_

_What am I doing here?_

She stood under the awning in front of Dempsey's Pub and peered in the window. The inside was packed, mostly with people she didn't know. She doubted even Woody knew all of them, but what Boston cop could pass up an opportunity to come to an Irish pub to raise a few pints to a wounded brother?

He was due to start back at work on Monday, desk duty only, and some of the other homicide detectives had decided to throw him a welcome back party at the local cops' hangout. She was surprised when she heard an unfamiliar voice on her answering machine inviting her down to the party that weekend. It was probably a mistake, she had decided. Woody didn't want her here, did he?

But she had come anyway, despite the sense of unease building up inside her as she got ready. She felt driven, somehow, to see him again and try to make things right. Perhaps any feelings he had for her had died on the fateful ride home from the salsa club, but she had to at least try. She had to at least ask for forgiveness.

She stood for a long while before summoning the courage to enter and was immediately hit by the odor of beer and cigar smoke and the hot scent of too many big Irish cops packed into a tiny barroom.

Her heart fluttered in anticipation as she searched the room for him. Then the crowd parted for a moment, and she saw him. He was sitting on a barstool holding a beer mug. He still looked thin and weak, but his color was good, and she smiled to herself at the sight of him.

He turned then and saw her there standing anxiously inside the doorway. A looked played across his face, one she couldn't quite interpret. She thought for a moment that she should go, but then he smiled a full, warm smile and mouthed the word, "Hi."

She smiled back nervously and lifted her hand in a small wave. He slid off the bench and waded through the crowd to her.

"Well..." Her voice was suddenly dry and thin. "I'm here."

"Yeah." He smiled again. "It's good to see you."

"How are you?"

"Great. Fine." He said brightly, and then looked away. "Well, _okay_." She nodded in understanding. "I haven't slept through the night since it happened. But physically? I feel pretty good. And it's great to be out of the house."

"Good. Great. I'm glad, Woody. Where's Cal?"

"He left yesterday." Woody rolled his eyes. "I think he was getting a little tired of playing Florence Nightengale. I guess I'm not the best patient."

She opened her mouth to continue the light small talk, something about Cal and his bedside manner, but he spoke in a rush.

"The guys told me they had invited you. I wasn't sure you'd come, Jordan."

"I wasn't sure I'd come, either."

He stood in front of her, his eyes darting across her face. He finally spoke in a small voice. "We've really been through it, haven't we?"

He could have been talking about the past three years or the shooting. Either way, her response was the same. "Yeah." She nodded. "I'd give anything to go back and change things."

"Well, that's just it," he started sadly. "We can't change things. We just have to learn to make peace and move on." He was silent for a moment, and then she felt his hand slip into hers with an affectionate squeeze. "I'm glad you're here, Jordan. I wanted to talk to you."

She looked anxiously at the floor. "I wanted to talk to you, too, Woody." She shut her eyes tight so she would not have to see his reaction. "I've been thinking about things. About..._us_. About everything that's happened. I just want you to know..."

A booming voice came from behind her. "Woody! I'm taking off! Get over here. I've got someone I need you to meet!" Woody frowned and waved over Jordan's shoulder.

"Jordan, I..."

Jordan shrugged. "Go on. You are the man of the hour, after all." She reached up and quickly kissed him on the cheek. "Just be happy, okay? Be happy, Woody." She turned to go before he could see her cry.

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. "Wait, Jordan. Stay right here. Don't move, okay? I want to talk to you. Please, don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." He made his way through the crowd, and she watched as he shook hands with a burly homicide detective's wife. He saw the pair out the door and tried to make his way back to Jordan but was stopped by some semi-sober detective and then another. It was like that for the next half hour. Each time he broke free of some drunken windbag, he would be pulled in another direction.

She stood awkwardly by the bar, watching as he made his way through the crowd. She nursed a glass of wine and tried to act as if she were enjoying herself.

It was no use, really. It was time to move on. Those were Woody's words, and she knew there was nothing she could say to change his mind. She caught his eye and pointed to her watch. It was late. She was on early shift the next day.

He shook his head and held up a finger to stop her. She hurried for the door even as she heard Woody call her name over the din. He watched as she opened the door and a blast of cold air swept into the sweltering barroom.

"Woody? You listening to me?" a homicide detective was leaning in with beery breath.

"Uh...yeah. Sure. Look, I'm fading fast. I really appreciate this shindig, but I'm going to have to call it a night." He smiled weakly and headed out before anyone else could stop him.

The street was empty. She was gone.

He stood in the chill for a moment before walking to his car, his cheek still tingling from where she had kissed him.


	9. Moving On

_THIS is the last chapter. I know the ending might still be a bit abrupt, but I am running out of steam a little bit, and I think it is time to get off the "angst express" (TM jtbwriter!)_

_So, even Jordan deserves a little fluffy happy ending in her life!_

_Thanks to all who've reviewed and left constructive feedback. You have no idea how helpful it has been! Here goes..._

XXXXXXX

So. That was to be it, then.

She walked slowly into her darkened apartment and dropped her keys on the end table inside the door. They slid off onto the floor, and she did not bother to pick them up.

She threw herself onto her bed and sobbed with abandon. Woody was gone, out of her life with nothing more than an affectionate squeeze of the hand and a bit of bland chit chat. He had said he wanted to talk to her, but what could he possibly say? How many ways could he find to tell her that it was over, and they both needed to move on?

She felt as if she had been running from him for years, and tonight would be the last time. There was nothing to run from anymore.

No, it was better to leave it like this, with her halting attempt at an apology and a gentle kiss on the cheek. At least they could be civil if their paths crossed at work in the future, and they would, of course. She would have to learn to smile and nod casually when he came into trace for a report and hide the fact that she felt as if she had lost a part of her own heart when he had been shot.

She found suddenly that she could barely keep her eyes open and rolled onto her side without undressing. It was best to take advantage of her state of exhaustion. She had barely slept in the past weeks, and when she did, her sleep was interrupted with nightmarish visions, and she would be jerked awake with the sound of gunshot still ringing in her ears.

She lay with her eyes closed, sleep more elusive then she had hoped, when there was a knock at the door. There was a moment when she debated not answering it, but she finally rolled out of bed.

She looked through the peephole and then quickly undid the chains.

"Woody!" Her voice did not betray her surprise at seeing him.

He stood leaning breathlessly against the door frame. "Well, thank God you live in a building with an elevator. That's all I can say." He smiled lightly. "Are you going to invite me in?"

She stared at him a moment, as if she hadn't heard. "Oh! Of course, I'm sorry. Come in. Let me get you some water. Can I get you some water? You must be wrung out," she started to babble. He chuckled and flopped onto the sofa. "What? What's funny?"

"You. Always trying to get me water and tuck me in."

"You can't take this lightly, Woody. You almost died. Recovery is going to take awhile," she said with an unintended sharp edge in her voice.

"I know, I know. No one knows that better than I do. Believe me. I just don't want to wallow in self-pity. I just want to move on."

_Move on. _Ah, there it was again. He had come to rub her nose in it?

"Well, it's just a glass of water," she said curtly and headed toward the kitchen.

"Jordan, please just sit down. Okay? Don't worry about the water," he said gently and caught her hand as she passed.

The touch of his hand sent little ripples down her spine. She sat and curled up on the opposite end of the sofa.

"Okay..." she said warily.

"You left before we had the chance to talk, Jordan."

She looked down with a sad shrug. "There just didn't seem to be anything left to say, Woody."

"Of course there is, Jordan. " He began softly. He reached out and traced small circles on her arm with his fingertip. "I know you blame yourself for everything that has happened. And I'm not just talking about the shooting, Jordan. I'm talking about _everything_. And...I just want you to know that it's all right. Despite appearances of late, I'm not angry. I don't blame you, Jordan. So, stop beating yourself up."

She looked up at him in surprise. "I don't get it. I've behaved horribly for the last three years. I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again. How can you possibly forgive me?"

"Well, when you get shot in the belly, you find yourself with lots of free time on your hands to just to lie around. So, I started thinking. When I said it was time to make peace and move on, I meant it. But I think you must have misunderstood. I meant we can't change the past, but we can't dwell on it, either. Besides." He smiled a small knowing smile. "I think I figured something out about you, Jordan Cavanaugh."

"You did?" she gulped. "How so?"

He leaned forward purposefully. "Before my dad died, I don't remember him ever telling me or Cal that he loved us or that he was proud of us. I convinced myself and everyone else that I hated him. But when he was shot, I never left his side. I stayed at the hospital around the clock. And then when we knew the end was near, I sat there with him. He was so scared. So, I just talked to him, telling him he was going to see mom soon, and I held his hand until he was gone. Despite all the rotten things he had done, I stayed there. Because you don't leave the people you love when they need you most. Even when they keep pushing you away. Do you, Jordan?"

She could not look him in the eye. She had been found out.

He went on quietly, moving closer to her on the sofa. "You don't sit there with someone at a hospital, lying to the hospital staff just so you can sneak into their room, putting up with the verbal abuse of the worst patient ever if you don't love them even just a little bit." He leaned over and took her hand in his. "Do you, Jordan?"

She burst into relieved sobs and leaned against him. "No. You don't."

He laughed. "Hey! I thought you'd be happy! I didn't mean to make you cry!"

She sat up and rubbed at her dampened face. "I am! I just thought...tonight at the bar...I thought you were..."

He groaned and threw his hands over his face. " I know! I know! Come on, you know me! I'm horrible with words! I can never find the right thing to say when it really counts. There I was trying to tell you that I love you, and I'm not about to give up on you because I _know_ you feel the same way, and I blew it!"

When he looked at her again, she was staring at him wide-eyed. "You..._love_ me?"

He drew one corner of his mouth up in a bashful smile. "Well, of course. What did you think?" She began to cry again and nuzzled in against his shoulder. "Aw, jeez! Here we go again!" He laughed warmly and wrapped his arms around her. "I know you love me, Jordan. I know it. You don't even have to say it. And I know this is going to take some time. We both need to heal, physically and otherwise. This thing is not going to be easy. But you wouldn't be Jordan Cavanaugh if it were. Just no more lies, okay? Life's too short. I know it sounds cheesy..."

She sat up and looked at him with a smirk. "Well, you _are _from Wisconsin."

He smiled down into her face, thinking she had never looked more lovely with her puffy eyes and red nose. "Is that what I'm going to have to put up with from now on? Cheesehead jokes? Boy oh boy, I might just have to reconsider this whole thing."

She grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer. "Just shut up and kiss me, farmboy."

THE END


End file.
